


Gotcha

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dry Humping, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur finds his hands full. (Of two rowdy princes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gotcha

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MocaJava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MocaJava/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Fili and Kili love to joke and wrestle around with Bofur. One day while they're wrestling with the older Dwarf Bofur finds himself pinned down by the two lads and suddenly Bofur has two horny young Princes on his hands. Not that Bofur objects” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24673141#t24673141).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Playing lookout is _boring_ , especially when they’re still not that far from the Shire, and Bofur hasn’t seen a single thing worth watching out for. He has to do it, all the same, because Thorin ordered him to and the other dwarves all shooed him off, promising he’d be relieved of duty soon enough and he can handle one short shift. But it’s still boring, and Bofur spends most of his time pacing back and forth on the edge of the stubby little hill outside the small smattering of trees that hide the others, kicking up rocks and whistling lonely tunes. 

Then a pebble flies out past his foot, and Bofur spins to look after it, caught off guard, though the darkness swallows it up again in a heartbeat. He turns to see where it came from, just as two figures burst out of the trees. He has just enough time to scream before he’s tackled to the ground. The wind flies out of him, his head reeling from the impact, and two heavy weights depress his stomach. Fíli’s excited voice calls, “Got you!”

“Now who’re the kings of ambush, huh?” Kíli laughs, referring, probably, to the way Bofur surprised them yesterday during a piss break, where he practically leapt on top of them out of nowhere and made them nearly jump out of their skins. It was definitely worth the laugh, just like horsing around with the two young dwarves always is, but if he’d known their revenge would come with such a blow to his head, he might’ve lightened up a little. 

Still, he’s got enough strength to growl teasingly, “Why you—” And he grabs them both around the middle, trying to wrestle them off. They fight back, of course, clinging to his clothes and trying to pin his legs under theirs. They’ve got the advantage of two people and eight flailing limbs, but Bofur’s got more experience, and he’s spent hours grappling with Nori, which equates to the veracity of being able to take on _anyone_. He squirms out of the way of two reaching arms and loops his own around their middles, one on either side. Then he clamps them tight together and tosses himself to the left, using their weight for momentum to roll everything over. Fíli hits the ground first, Kíli following, and Bofur lands right on top of them, dropping down to flatten them to the earth.

Fíli and Kíli, of course, don’t go lightly. Fíli tries to knee him in the stomach, not hard enough to really hurt but enough to make him grunt and waver off-balance, and Kíli shoves at his shoulders to help. He goes rearing up, back onto his knees, and of course they lunge at him with muted battle cries. He’s knocked back down, wrestled over, and he struggles back, reach between punches and kicks with padded fabric everywhere and holding himself back from playing dirty and tugging their hair. His hat’s long since toppled off his head, but there’s no time to care, because Fíli and Kíli are feisty little things that latch onto him and won’t let go. It was cool out on the hill, but now Bofur’s burning up, made worse every time their bodies wriggle against him and they wrap their arms and legs around in an effort to throw him off. 

Finally, with a roar that would make Dwalin proud, Bofur manages to roll them over again, pin them both beneath him, shoving their shoulders down and elbowing their grubby paws out of the way. He barks a short, “Hah!” Fíli makes a low whining sound and Kíli writhes against him, but both stay down. Bofur, for one glorious second, revels in his victory.

And then he freezes in his tracks, jerking upright. His hands pull off of them, and they both look up at him with wide yes and innocent faces, their trim bodies trembling with their panting breath. Bofur, for the first time in many counts of wrestling with these two, has just become horribly _hard_.

It’s happened with Nori, of course. Dori, once or twice. Perfectly natural when two—or three—healthy dwarves are touching so much, but Fíli and Kíli are quite a bit younger than him, and they have no such understanding. They’re also Thorin’s heirs. It’s somewhat understandable, of course, because the two princes are both gorgeous, a solid mix of handsome and pretty with cute beards and eager bodies and a mischievous fire in their eyes. 

But that’s no excuse to get hard on top of them, and Bofur can feel his cheeks heating. For once, he doesn’t have any words. 

Dropping into a frown but still lying where he is, Fíli asks, “What’s wrong?”

Kíli only grins wider, quipping, “He’s upset he’s lost.” And with that, Kíli pushes up again, grabbing Bofur around the middle, and Fíli joins in. With Bofur lax from his surprise, they have an easy time of rolling him over. His back’s shoved down again with an ‘oomph,’ and they scramble atop him, one sitting on each leg. Their hands stay on his stomach to hold him down, their faces alight with the glow of victory.

And Bofur realizes, with a stunned glance down, that Kíli’s hard, too. He can feel the stiff bulge against his thigh, Kíli’s firm legs straddling him close. When Fíli rolls his hips at the other side of Bofur’s crotch, Bofur’s gaze shifts over, and Fíli’s hard, too. Their expression filter out of confidence and into sheepish coyness, before Kíli follows his brother’s example and rubs against Bofur’s thigh. 

Bofur opens his mouth, has nothing, and flips over for the umpteenth time. The boys go rolling easily beneath him, lying on the hard ground with their hair splayed out around them and catching in each other’s mess. Bofur’s legs stay between theirs, one knee now pressed firmly against each crotch. He supports himself up with a hand to either of their sides, and he tries to say, “Boys, we need to have a talk—”

“About what?” Fíli asks, although Bofur’s very sure he knows what, because his hips start to grind up into Bofur’s side. Kíli matches it immediately, the two of them working almost in tandem. They wrap their legs and arms around him, too much of a mess to detangle. 

Kíli offers, “Can we talk later?” He’s breathing only slightly harder than Fíli, Bofur not far behind. His head’s thin from the wrestling, skin broiling beneath his clothes. But Fíli and Kíli show no signs of stopping. If anything, they writhe below him even worse than before, now rubbing their chests purposefully against his and humping his thighs with a young fervor that makes Bofur heady to feel. He moans without meaning to, his arms shaking. They’re both very attractive, of course, but more than that, it’s so hard to resist two eager bodies pressing into his at once. 

He means to say, ‘we can’t,’ but instead grumbles, “Fuck it!” There’s just no way to see the glass as anything but half full. Bofur collapses down onto them, crushing out their happy squeals, and he wraps his arms around both their waists, pulling their small figures tight against him. 

He lets his hips go crazy, slamming into them, and even through all the fabric, it gives him an instant spark of pleasure. He can smell their musk of sweat and arousal, and he buries his face between theirs, while they turn into him to rub their beards against his. Fíli’s hair is soft and sleek, while Kíli’s stubble leaves a tingling scratch, and Bofur nuzzles into them both with his own scruff. Kíli whimpers beautifully, Fíli groaning in delight. They both hump him wildly, faster than he could, riding him, dry, to a quick, raunchy end.

Fíli is screaming in no time, Kíli gasping loud, and for one horrible second, Bofur is sure the others will hear and come running. They shiver and clench against him, arching in the throes of their orgasms, and Bofur _stares_ at their beautiful faces contorting in pleasure. He’s older, yes, but he still doesn’t last long, and before they’re done their writhing, Bofur roars his own completion, clamping his legs tight around theirs and grinding hard between their bodies. His release fills his trousers, but the bliss itself is too wonderful to care. 

In a few more seconds, he’s gasping for breath and spent, lounging heavy atop their panting chests. All the tension goes out of their limbs, and the three of them lie, spent, loose along the ground. 

Then something taps at Bofur’s foot, and he looks over his shoulder to see Gandalf standing above him. 

Below him, Fíli and Kíli are nuzzling into him, totally unashamed. Bofur somehow grunts, “Oops?” And he offers a clumsy, broad grin and a little shrug.

Gandalf shakes his head and mutters disparagingly, “ _Dwarves_ ,” then turns to slink back through the forest, announcing loudly that all three troublemakers are fit as fiddles.


End file.
